


Indiscreet

by Shadowfire_RavenPheonix



Series: Doing the Forbidden [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abused Linens, Accusations, Aggressive Emotional Outlets, Bad Puns, Bull NO!!, Bull got his leg-over and isn't keen to share, Coping through alcohol, Cullen out of the armour, Damn that's hot tho, Dorian NO!, Dorian can't focus, Dorian can't sit down either, Euphemisms, Everyone's emotions are turned up to Eleven, FIREBALLS, Flirting, Furniture, Gambling, Going too far, Hitting things totally counts as anger management, Horrible Puns, In Game Banter, Indiscretion, Instructional Sparing, It's still a bit dirty tho, M/M, Minor OC - Freeform, Mood Swings, Morning After, No Smut, No one and everyone is to blame, Now Bull Can't Focus, Pissed Off Pavus, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Overtones, Quanri Anatomy Kink, Rebuttals, Self recrimination, Self-Doubt, Sequel, Sera NO!!!, Shadow didn't write any Smut?!?, Shameless Ogling, So crossing the line, The 'Morning After' Banter, Then Cole, Unstable Bull, Whaaaa?, being outed, heat of the moment, knots, oh gawd they're bad, pretty to look at too, puns, shit., there is a chair – it's a thing, this Tal-Vashoth thing isn't sitting well, vivid imaginations, why did I let this happen?!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-24 09:31:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7503138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowfire_RavenPheonix/pseuds/Shadowfire_RavenPheonix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So Dorian, about last night...”</p><p>“Euugh.” Dorian groaned, trying to remind his knees that he needed them to continue to support his weight in order to remain upright; and he did need to remain upright, no matter how much a part of him wished he could melt into the cobbles in order to avoid this. “Discretion isn't your thing is it?”</p><p>-</p><p>We've all heard the banter, but just what were Dorian and Bull thinking in that moment? Why did Bull bring it up where others could over hear? Why didn't Dorian shut him down or deny it? These were the questions I simply felt must be explored and here is my interpretation of the events in question.</p><p>Part two of my  'Doing the Forbidden' series.  Reading part one first – highly recommended</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Words

**Author's Note:**

> Opening A/N: *nervous* He~y, soooo, um.... yeah. I'm back? To those of you who checked out my 'coming soon' teaser, I guess you already knew that but for the rest of you... Yeah~ I have returned and I have come back with Doribull as a peace offering. I won't bore you with the details of the crazy that has been my life since my second son was born but let me just assure you, it's been... interesting trying to renovate and rearrange my entire house around a new baby and a hyperactive toddler all while starting to work part-time both in and out of my home (XP).
> 
> But enough about me and more about our boys here! So, not sure if you noticed or not but this fic is only rated 'Mature' and I will tell you now that there will be no graphic smut-a-thon-ing in this (I'm saving that for the next one) so consider yourselves warned and please don't kill me! I figured I ease my way back into things with a complex bit of emotional, lust-fuelled, turmoil instead (cause that's soo much easier, right?) and also be warned while I'm posting these two chapters as their own fic, (and they do actually manage to stand on their own as a proper story arc) they are also very much meant to be a bridge between the first smut extravaganza and the next with a lot of referencing in both directions. So to new readers, feel free to start here... but if you have time I do REALLY recommend popping back and reading part-one of the series first. As for you returning readers keep your eyes peeled in here cause I sneak a few things in that are gonna turn up and be important in the next one (;p)
> 
> Right. I'll shut up now and let you all get on with what you really came here for!
> 
> Discalimer: these are Bioware's play things...I'm just borrowing them... for science... non-profit science.

The Iron Bull awoke in the early dawn with a groan; a shaft of early morning light penetrating the clouds and hitting him smack in the face. He cursed groggily, bringing a hand up to shield his good eye from the stabbing brightness; his brow furrowing when his fingers encountered the cool metal of his eye patch. Odd. He was in a bed, which meant he was in Skyhold, and in Skyhold he usually took the patch off - good to let the skin breathe.

 

For that matter, if he was in Skyhold, why was the sun hitting him at all? He'd put up some old crusty curtains before his last foray into the field with the Inquisitor, so why then...

 

He cracked open his eye and peered through his fingers in the direction of the window. With his first glimpse of the chared rags fluttering limply in the morning sun, a large, toothy grin split his face as the events of the previous evening came back to him in a flood.

 

The Mera. The Fire. Dorian.

 

 _Right_...

 

Bull let his head flop back with a small amused chuckle, his free hand sliding down along his abdomen until he could grip his knot; squeezing the softened mass and humming with pleasure to feel that deep -almost bruised- ache, that always lingered after he tied a partner. For a time he just lay in the bed, one hand tucked behind his horns, the other periodically squeezing his knot or stroking his half hard length as he replayed the previous night's encounter.

 

The movement of Bull's hand got a little more focused as he let his mind turn over the experience. The spicy rich taste of Dorian on his tongue. The way those proud high-bred features had crumpled with the mage’s pleasure. That particular way he’d had of stirring his hips, making that tight channel press perfectly against all the right places with every rise and fall… yeah, that had been some good shit. And then – to top it all off! the 'vint had actually succeeded in taking in the whole of Bull's cock _and_ knot...

 

A moments remembered bliss... and then Bull's hand was drifting to a stop, along with his fond recall of the event; a frown replacing the half smile on his lips and darkening his brow.

 

He shouldn't have let things go as far as he had. It had been incredibly reckless letting Dorian goad him to the breaking point like that. There were a dozen reasons it shouldn’t have gone that far; he could have done the human a serious damage, for one. He’d had no reason to believe the Mera mightn’t have torn the human open, and could only count himself lucky it hadn’t. Then there were the effects such encounters had on his own person; not the least of which was the fact that he'd apparently been so spent and exhausted afterwards that he'd slept through Dorian's departure. Sure, things like that might be a common enough occurrence for others maybe; but as a veteran of Seheron, Bull rarely slept deeply enough not to wake the moment there was any movement within ten feet of him. Yet, here he was… alone. Presumably, Dorian had left the bed, dressed _and_ exited the room at some point, all without Bull being aware of any of it.

 

Damn. He didn't like how easily he was letting shit like that slip through the cracks ever since…

 

With a growl, Bull tossed off any thoughts of the coast along with the much abused blanket, and stalked toward the wash chamber, his previous arousal rapidly receding in light of his growing black mood. The water in the basin was icy and Bull didn't bother to warm it before splashing it over his face and scrubbing roughly as though he could wash off the fouling of his pleasant mood. It didn't work. If anything, his mood had managed to sour further by the time he'd dressed, so it was probably not all that surprising that he failed to curtail an audible snarl when there came a brisk businesslike rapping at his door.

 

“What?!” he barked yanking the ancient weathered wood open so hard it rattled dangerously on its hinges. The simmering heat of his growing frustration was dowsed like a candle dropped in the ocean, however, when he found himself face to face, not with some hapless message runner but a...a chair?

 

For a moment Bull just blinked at the tall fur and horn adorned back of what looked to be some ancient, Avvar throne in complete confusion, before there came a soft clearing of a throat to his left and he peered around his door frame to see Josephine standing next to the thing looking far too put together for this hour of the morning. But then... Josephine always looked just a little _too_ put together for Bull's liking. There was just something about these dark skinned humans with their perfectly coiffed hair that made him want to see it hang in a sweaty tangle about their flushed and flustered faces.

 

“My apologies for the early hour, Iron Bull.” she said in that too-polite-diplomat’s voice of hers, snapping him out of his thoughts which were -irritatingly- calling up images of a certain ‘vint instead of the lovely example of Antivan aristocracy currently in front of him. “But we discovered this item whilst combing Skyhold's storage.” She continued, gesturing to the over-sized chair as if it were perfectly normal thing to be standing out side his door with, at sunrise. “Clearly it has little value to most of the keep's occupants, but given the trouble you've had finding... _suitable_ accommodations here, I though it might be of some use to you. Though,” a small smirk pulled at the corner for her lips as she glanced into the dark room at his back, “perhaps I am interrupting?”

 

“What? Uh... Oh! No. Come on in.” he stammered, moving back out of the way so as to let the poor saps she'd wrangled into doing her grunt work pass. It took a bit of creative manoeuvring to get the heavy, wide and tall-backed seat through the entrance to his room; but after a certain amount of much muffled cursing, and a good deal of sweating the unfortunate sods finally managed it.

 

“Over by the hearth, perhaps?” Josephine directed as she breezed through in the soldiers wake looking quite the cool contrast to the red-faced and puffing men.

 

“Yeah, sure. Wherever you want. I can always move it if I need to.” Bull muttered half distracted, as he set about stirring up the fire and putting the kettle over it in an attempt to clear his mind of the resurgence of images of Dorian sweating and rocking over his cock, this bizarre interlude had unreasonably conjured up again. The sound of the diplomat clearing her throat a bit more pointedly called his attention back to the room in time to intercept one of the lady’s raised-eyebrow-looks followed by a pointed shift in her gaze.

 

Bull followed the line of her sight, squinting to make out what her sharp regard had already spotted. At the foot of his bed, sitting like a crown a top the pile of ripped and much stained sheets he’d hastily stripped from the bed last night, lay a pair of silky cream coloured smallclothes; ones that wouldn't have fit Bull's impressive physique (by any stretch of the imagination). One more a slow lopsided grin spread over his features and his mood lifted more towards the jovial as he returned his eye to Josephine's with a wink. She immediately took to pinching the bridge of her nose with an exasperated huff and a semi-pained look creasing her brow which Bull was already coming to recognize meant she thought she was about to have to scold him for one diplomatic faux-pas or another. The very soul of discretion, she constrained herself to another sharp look of irritation as she waited for the two men to have situated the chair according to her directions, and offering them a polite thank you and dismissal, before getting down to it, though.

 

“I do hope I'm not about to have to send some extravagant gift with a carefully worded apology to some minor lord-ling's noble father, Iron Bull, the Inquisition cannot afford to be alienating any of her allies whilst we are still so young a power upon the political scene… nor can we afford the gold, for that matter. The repair of Skyhold is a steady drain on coffers we have only just begun to replenish after Haven.”

 

“Don't go wrinkling up that pretty little brow of yours, Josie. Unless we suddenly got the backing of a bunch of 'vints I don't know about, no one's daddy is gonna be pounding on your door demanding compensation.” He soothed, with a rather ribald smirk tugging at his lips. He watched with amusement as her frown changed from one of concern to that of confusion, as she no doubt started combing through the current guests of the Inquisition trying to place whom he was hinting at before her eyes suddenly widened in surprise as she hit upon the only Tevinter in their midst likely to be found to wear _silk_ smallclothes.

 

“Oh.”she breathed, cheeks flushing faintly as she ducked her head and tried to compose herself. Bull just grinned, fighting the urge to laugh at having caught her out so effectively. “Well then. I shall -um- leave you to your business then. Good day, Iron Bull.”

 

“Yeah. Back at you Josie.” The amused smile lingered along with his improved mood as Bull got to work straightening up the room, until he started sorting out the bed and bedding that was. As he dealt with the sheets there once again came that sudden shift in his temper. He couldn’t help but recall the way Dorian had looked as he had huddled in on himself amidst the shredded bedclothes after everything had been said and done. His half-conscious words and unconscious actions saying more about his past lovers than Bull would have likely ever have gotten out of the man while he was awake. The implications found Bullfighting to restrain a gut roiling anger on Dorian’s behalf all out of proportion within the scope with his actual relationship with the man.

 

Crap. What had gotten into him? Dorian was hardly the first person Bull had taken to bed who was carrying more than and few scars from past lovers and affairs. Mostly, such realizations has simply triggered a sort of complacent sadness and a desire to make his partner of the moment feel good while they were with _him_. Now, however…

 

The more he thought about it the tighter his chest grew and the harsher his breathing got, and it wasn't long before he was huffing as hard as an actual bull and he found himself all but chewing his tongue as he tried to get a grip on his runaway emotions. It didn't work. If anything his efforts only seemed to fan the embers of his mutinous rage into a fuller flame. He wanted action. He wanted to _do_ something about that pain. Fight the hurt. _Hurt_ the ones who'd done the hurting. Wanted to rend and rip and tear-

 

The harsh shriek of fibres parting company unwillingly stopped Bull's wild thoughts short, and for a moment all he could do was stare dumbly at the two halves of the poor mistreated blanket in his hands.

 

_Fuck._

 

With exaggerated care he laid the pieces flat on the bed and went to rummage through his things until he found needle and thread. Clearing his mind as best he could he set about carefully stitching the pathetic bit of cloth back together. Taking particular care never to let his mind wonder beyond the precise controlled action of setting each stitch. It helped; but only just. He was calm enough to contemplate leaving his room but he wasn't sure he could pull off even the facsimile of casual conversation. Fucking asscrabs.

 

He dutifully ignored the slight, adrenaline fuelled, tremor still present in in his hands as he folded the newly mended (but well fucked) bed cover neatly onto the foot of the bed; stoutly refusing to let himself think he was already loosing himself to the grey.

 

 _Uurrrrragh._ _I_ _need to hit something_. Bull started to pull himself up short at the violent impulse but then thought twice… that might actually work. _Yeah. Smashing something into kindling..._ _that could_ _help._ _Go burn some of this off._ _Clear my focus._ It might not have been the truth in the strictest of definitions, but it felt like it might do the trick all the same, so with that thought he grabbed his weighted practice axe and strode out of the room, headed for the training grounds.

 

**.ox:~DTF~:xo.**

 

Dorian shifted in his seat again, and upon failing to find a position that didn't put undue pressure on his tender backside, he found himself dredging up another reason to visit the shelves...

 

… again

 

… for the fifth time in an hour.

 

At this point he couldn't help but be grateful that the library's only other regular occupant was tranquil and thus blessedly uninterested in others as well as disinclined to comment. Though if this kept on much longer he was liable to catch the interest of the Inquisitions' Spy Master above.

 

Solas, would most assuredly have made several pointed comments about Dorian’s seeming restlessness by this point had he not been dragged out of the keep -thank Andraste for small mercies- by the Inquisitor at first light. After all, Dorian had been at this all morning. Well, _afternoon_. By the time he'd crawled out of his bed, there had hardly been any of the 'morning' left even by his own -somewhat liberal- standard of such things. It wasn't as though Dorian was an early riser by anyone’s definition if given a choice in the matter, but this morning he’d truly played the-slug-a-bed according to the hour of his actual rising.

 

At first, he'd found the after effects of the previous night's activity rather pleasant, so he’d been in no rush,luxuriating in that blissfully achy -loose- lethargy it had left him with.Content not to move overly much as he catalogued all the small aches that came in tandem with that soft pliant feeling in all his tendons and large muscles one only ever really experienced after a long thorough massage... or a truly _magnificent_ shagging.

 

Unfortunately he'd not been allowed to indulge in his usual levels of prolonged and indulgent sloth as was his habit post=-cross-country-romp. He'd have liked to have blamed his premature return to Skyhold’s public domain on the Inquisitor’s runner knocking at his door with a letter asking him to do some sensitive research. It turned out she had being called back into the field immediately owing to a rift opening up practically on top of one of the towns under the Inquisition's banner. If he was being honest, however, he’d have to admit he'd been well on the way to being driven from his bed already by that point. His own thoughts and looming anxiety regarding the implications of his and The Bull's impromptu -if thoroughly enjoyable- rutting growing louder and louder and making the prospect of his continued idle isolation less appealing by the moment.

 

With a sigh that was more groan than he'd care to admit, Dorian heaved himself back onto tender legs and set off to peruse the stacks once more. The problem that had seen him tossing restlessly after returning to consciousness this morning was that he simply didn't know what to make of his own confused feelings on the matter of last night. His mind insisted upon returning to the event over and over again; not an uncommon occurrence after a good romp, but it was _what_ his mind kept recalling for his examination that had him feeling so _perturbed_.

 

It wouldn't have been surprising, for instance -or even all that remarkable- if he'd found his consciousness lovingly caressing memories of just how exhilarating an experience it had all been to be first under, then over, the hulking great brute of a man. It would have been utterly common place if he'd been fondly combing through the vivid recall of the thrill of new sensations at the hands of an intriguing new partner. That, however, was _not_ where his thoughts insisted upon returning; no, that dubious honour was reserved for the dim hazy fog of what had occurred _after_. The not quite real, disjointed scraps of ephemera from when he'd been all but unconscious and utterly at The Bull's mercy. Those memories that weren't entirely within his grasp but which held undeniable tenure in his attentions.

 

Selecting a book almost at random in his frustration with his own thoughts, Dorian returned to his chair perhaps a bit prematurely and ended up wincing uncomfortably when he took his seat again. He tried to ignore the discomfort in favour of his task. Usually it would have been simplicity itself to let his mind overrule his aching body and troubled emotions to focus on the purely academic task of research and theoretical study; it was a trick that had always worked for him in the past.

 

Not this morning apparently.

 

Again and again he tried to focus on the words on the page only to be dragged out by some trivial annoyance. A twinge in his back. The noise from the courtyard. A muscle in his thigh going into sudden spasm. The growing noise from the court yard. Distracting recalls of how incredible The Bull's tongue had felt, causing a certain overused muscle to flutter inappropriately. _The bloody racket from the bloody courtyard_.

 

With a muttered curse Dorian closed the tome on his lap with a snap and stood in a huff whirling toward the window to glare at the culprits menacingly through the glass. Not that, that had ever done him any good in the past. Mind, in the past, it had always been rather more a fringe benefit rather than an annoyance, that the young hot-blooded recruits took to training just outside his alcove. A welcome distraction where he could watch them all sweating and flexing their muscles for his entertainment should his mind wander. In light of the sheer level of his irritation this afternoon, however -not to mention the rather excessive decibel level- he was honestly weighing the hassle of dealing with a future draft versus the satisfaction of breaking one of panes in order to launch a fireball into their midst _right now_ when he actually registered what he was seeing.

 

Dorian blinked a bit rapidly as the somewhat dazzling sight of The Iron Bull's scared hide, glinting silver under a sheen of sweat, as he joyously hurled fresh-faced farmers' sons left and right. Normally such a brutish display would have just left Dorian snorting with dismissive derision; and while he went through the motions of doing exactly that now, even to his own ears the sound lacked conviction. He seemed too caught up in the play of light over the slick musculature of The Bull's broad shoulders, imagining he could feel the power of them turned against him again as they had been last night.

 

_Kaffas…_

 

Swallowing thickly Dorian gave up the lark and simply stared as the huge qunari moved about the practice ring with unlikely grace for a man who normally appeared to lumber about like the oxen his kind were so often compared to. An electric shiver raced up Dorian's spine with each flex and swing of those thick arms; a vivid reminder to Dorian of what it felt like to be in The Bull's grasp. He watched avidly - _hungrily_ \- as the big warrior casually shrugged off every attack, shouldered aside each opponent, with an almost feral glee until there were no more comers. Glancing about himself for more challengers, his breathing even and relaxed, The Bull planted the heavy looking wooden axe in the dirt and leaned on it with that cocky, crooked grin of his. The expression was so similar to the one the warrior had worn last night it made Dorian's heart flutter in his chest in a way that was entirely inappropriate given the circumstances.

 

Dorian was, in fact, so caught up in shamelessly devouring The Bull with his eyes that he failed to notice Cullen entering the ring and set about lecturing the recruits, at first; but he could hardly fail to notice when the big mercenary said something to the ex-templar that had the rest of the men hooting, and hollering and clearly egging their Commander on. Dorian’s mouth went utterly dry, then began to water shamefully when next thing he knew Cullen was shrugging off his surcoat and starting to work on the buckles of his breast plate.

 

 _Fasta Vas_ _s_.

 

Whirling on his heel Dorian made fast time for the stairs; all but bounding down them like some school aged hoodlum in his eagerness to get to the courtyard below. It may have been his intention to keep clear of The Bull until he'd sorted out his own head -but damn it all and sunder!- if he was going to miss the chance to watch the Commander and The Bull spare in the midday heat. He tried to tell himself it was as much about Cullen as it was The Bull as he pulled himself up short at the bottom of the stair and quickly ran his hands over hair and moustache to hide any telltale ruffling, before he stepped out into the rotunda and headed for the door. After all any opportunity to enjoy the sight of the ruggedly handsome Fereldan without the bulky armour and that hideous furred abomination he called a surcoat ruining the view was surely cause for celebration and a bit of discreet ogling.

 

With one more settling breath, Dorian plastered on his usual bored but pleasant expression as he pushed open the door and made his way out on the ramparts as though he was merely headed for The Herald’s Rest for an early start to his usual evening refreshments, and was only casually interested in the cheering, jeering crowd which had gathered and begun to lay bets on the pair now squaring off in the practice ring.

 

Under the pressure of public scrutiny Dorian did a much better job of containing his reaction to seeing Cullen had completely shed his armour and now wore only a pair of impressively tight fitting breeches and a loose shirt which he’d already sweated through in several places. Dorian managed to keep his gaze disinterested with an effort as he followed thedark line of sweat soaked, near transparent, cotton down the small of the man's back to the round of his rear end…

  

_Well there's a sight._

 

Maker. Even his thoughts sounded breathless. He tramped down the urge to stare and made his way over to the rail where the loudest of the betting seemed to be going on. A friendly wager seemed like the perfect excuse to linger, after all.

 

“Sparkler! Just in time!” Varric's voice rang out over the crowd from where he'd clambered up on the fence rails in order to get what height he could. “Care to get in on the action?”

 

“You know me Varric, when have I ever turned down the opportunity to take your money.”

 

“Ha! Depends on who you're backing. Me, my money's on our illustrious Commander. No matter how sleep deprived he is.” That last, the dwarf said with a sly wink in Dorian's direction, one that had the mage's cheeks warming with embarrassment and his lips pursing with more than a mild annoyance. He'd almost managed to forget that the dwarf had caught him out last night; now the memory was fresh again. “The Hero here, on the other hand, is betting on Bull's brawn seeing him through.”

 

“Easy money.” Blackwall grunted from the other side of the dwarf, his eyes fixed on where the two warrior’s were both limbering up. Something Dorian was attempting to not show too much overt interest in but which he was keenly aware of. The Bull's wide back was to him and as he twisted his shoulders and rolled his neck the muscles were doing marvellous things beneath his skin, the sight of which was doing... _interesting_ things to what lay beneath Dorian’s trousers. “The Bull’s got reach and power over Cullen. That skirmish with the recruits didn't even wind him; and I've seen what he can do on the battle field. Cullen's good, and with a squad of trained men at his back this would probably go the other way, but he's been too long at barking orders and directing fights. His reflexes won't be as sharp, it's classic Command-softening. The Bull will take this fight you mark my words, dwarf.”

 

“You forget Hero, Curly there was in Kirkwall during the Qunari Invasion. He's fought more than his share of giants, _and_ he fights smart. Plus I happen to know a secret.”

 

“Oh? Is that so?” Blackwall said sounding bored.

 

“Our dear Commander used to fight with a two handed sword long enough to give that axe of Tiny's a run for its money. He knows how to counter the reach of a weapon like that. Just you watch, Tiny’s gonna be the one to hit the dirt.” Blackwall just grunted, though his brow furrowed in mild concern at the new information.

 

“Well, what'll it be Sparkler?” Varric asked, turning toward Dorian with a roguish grin. “Are you backing the Commander?” Varric's grin turned sly “Or are you _coming_ out behind The Bull” Dorian glared at the dwarf as he weighed his choices. Both Varric and Blackwall made a strong argument in favour of their man but…

 

Dorian shifted in the afternoon sun feeling a myriad of aches and bruises at his wrists, shoulders and hips. Experiencing the ghosts of the Bull's easy strength as he'd manhandled him about the room and bed the evening prior. _The Bull looming over him- pining Dorian's wrists over his head with one hand as he reached down and negligently rid him of boots and trews with the other…_ Strength and reach. The hairy lummox had a point.

 

“Alright Varric, I'll take you on there. Three royals on The Bull.”

 

Varric just grinned “Always a pleasure to lighten your purse, Sparkler.

 

“We'll see about that.” He murmured, turning his body toward the rail and the two warriors beyond it. Both of them seemed to have finished with warming up and had taken to circling each other in the ring. The difference between the two men's styles was apparent even before the first blows where exchanged; though Dorian was caught a little bit off guard by how much Bull's tactics here had changed from what Dorian was used to seeing of him out in the field. Instead of charging in like a half-crazed animal as was his usual want, Bull was hanging back; testing the other man's mobility and guard as they circled the ring.

 

“Com'on Cullen.” The Bull's grin had a noticeably feral edge to it, as he half shouted over the jeers and cat calls of the gathered crowd. “You gonna come at me or just pussyfoot around over there?” Ah, there was the brazen bravado they had all come to expect of the horn-brained mercenary. The taunt seemed to simply roll off the ex-templar like he hadn’t even heard it. Cullen simply remained impassive, golden eyes locked on his opponent as he continued to circle to the left and thus forcing the Bull to turn with him. The Bull tried several more taunts impugning the man’s courage and implying the commander’s reluctance owed to the knowledge of being over matched, Cullen weathered them all like a deaf mute. When it was clear the mercenary was really reaching to find the next insult and coming up short the former Templar took pity on him and cut him off

 

“If you're so eager _Iron Bull_ ,” Good lord, Dorian had to admire the way the man could make the qunari’s chosen name sound even more derisive than Dorian had thus far managed, “the first move is yours.” Came Cullen’s return, his own grimly amused smile playing about his scared lip. Dorian caught himself worrying at his own lip at the sight of that small confidant quirking of the Fereldan's. Yet despite the all but written invitation, the two still continued to merely circle each other until, as if by some unspoken signal they were both, suddenly moving.

 

With a guttural roar Bull was halfway across the ring, heavy wooden axe swinging high to come at Cullen's sword arm. In a move Dorian couldn't quite make sense of, Cullen managed to twist almost like a cat so that it was his shield that took the blow and with a back handed swing of his own practice blade, he forced The Bull into jumping back to spare himself a nasty blow to the ribs.

 

After that, the fight moved at a lightening pace. The exchanges happening in sharp fast flurries of action with only a breath or two in between them. Dorian had no time to really even recognize who had come out on top of the last exchange before the next began. All he could really see of the fight was the impression of a silver avalanche moving relentlessly toward a golden shadow which was somehow never where he expected it to be. It was oddly beautiful and Dorian, though not normally inclined to wax poetic over blood sport such as this, couldn't help but admit there was something almost lyrical to the way the two warriors came together and then broke apart.

 

It was soon obvious to everyone to be a much more even match-up than anyone had originally anticipated, and the crowd was soon growing hoarse as the two warriors appeared to draw towards a stalemate.

 

Then, just as Dorian thought for sure they would be at this until one or the other collapsed from exhaustion, Cullen suddenly ducked right instead of left, and came up entirely under The Bull's guard. The ex-templar’s sword swept low as his shield came over hand all at once and the Bull simply had no time in which to get out of the way of either. The wooden blade hacked into the soft vulnerable tendons a the back of The Iron Bull's knee causing the joint to buckle in such a way the descending shield edge could crash into the top of it. Bull gave a startled shout, head snapping back as he staggered, while Cullen got his shoulder under the shield again, and putting all his weight into the move, heaved himself skyward, popping up from his half crouch like a child’s jack-in-the-box, just as the huge qunari came crashing down. That long, square jaw met the Commander's shield with a resonate crack that saw everybody present in the courtyard flinch visibly even as a cry of dismay went up from half as those who, like Dorian, had laid their money on the horn-headed lout. The shouts of displeasure petered out into chorus of resigned, and disappointed groans as the mercenary toppled backwards, like a felled tree.

 

Before the dust had even begun to settle Cullen turned and began addressing the spectating recruits.

 

“It's is all good and well to focus your attacks on a one eyed opponents blind side,” Cullen instructed the crowd of green men that Bull had be tossing about earlier, “However, chances are if it's an old injury they will likely have long since learned to compensate for it. You can still use this to your advantage, nonetheless, so long as you fight smart. Now who can tell me-”

 

“Well gentlemen. Pleasure doing business with you as always.” Varric’s gloating voice cut over the commander’s lecturing as he held out his hands and collected his coin form Blackwall before turning to Dorian with an odiously pleased looking air about his person.

 

“Yes, yes, Varric. No need to be insufferable about it.” Dorian groused, handing over the wagered royals. His purse now notably lighter Dorian turned back to lean on the fence separating the sparing grounds from the rest of the courtyard, reconsidering his original ploy to go collect a drink from the Rest considering the new _dwarfed_ state of his personal funds.

 

“Never bet against the Commander,” Dorian turned at the mild sounding voice at his side to see a vaguely familiar looking solider, likewise leaning on the rails, “sure fire way to lose your money that.” he finished, turning to give Dorian a friendly – if somewhat shy- smile.

 

“Ah well,” Dorian huffed good-naturedly, “the inherent risk of wagering anything is losing. I guess I’ll just have to find some other way to fund my drinking habit this evening.” he said with one of his most charming smirks, causally tossed in the soldier’s direction even as he failed to peel his eyes from The Bull as he began to climb to his feet again, the heavy musculature of his back and shoulder moving in a way that ought to have been illegal.

 

“Well, um, seeing as I bet on the winning man, I could -I don’t know- I could always buy you that drink, or two, or however many you want, -that is, if you’re still interested?” Dorian finally managed to tear his eyes from The Bull to really look at the stuttering man next to him, and thus finally recognizing him as the farmer’s son he’d made a pass at before he’d wound up banging down the Bull’s door. _Interesting._

 

“Perhaps.” He hedged, turning his back to the ring and giving the other man another lingering once over. Drink and the torch light of the previous evening had certainly polished off some of the rougher edges but, all in all, he was still worth a second glance in daylight. Broad shoulders, strong jaw, soft eyes… his face was a little more square than was Dorian’s usual preference on such things but that seemed to be a fereldan feature – almost inescapable this far south. Certainly he was an appealing enough picture that Dorian would hardly turn his nose up at the opportunity to rest his eyes on him further over a few glasses of something alcoholic; particularly if the coin for said alcohol wasn’t coming out of his own funds. “I was under the impression yesterday evening that _you_ were less than interested?” He let his voice climb mildly at the end, and arched his brow, making a question of the statement.

 

“Yeah, um, well you… you rather caught me off guard last night.” The young man blushed to charming effect and glanced away with a cough before gathering his nerve again. He then took a step closer, leaning in and looking up at Dorian with those warm dreamer’s eyes from under thick lashes he husked in a properly bold and flirtatious tone, “Can’t a man change his mind?”

 

Dorian opened his mouth to reply when those intent chocolaty eyes suddenly popped wide just as a shadow over fell them both and a huge, heavy hand clapped onto Dorian’s shoulder with staggering force. “So Dorian, about last night...”

 

“Euugh.” Dorian groaned, trying to remind his knees that he needed them to continue to support his weight in order to remain upright; and he did need to remain upright, no matter how much a part of him wished he could melt into the cobbles in order to avoid this.“Discretion isn't your thing is it?” he managed, trying to keep his tone light and unconcerned even as he felt a small thread of panic creep through him. This was really  _not_ how he’d pictured this conversation happening.

 

**.ox:~DTF~:xo.**

 

 

In his attempt not to be caught obviously leering at the ‘vint, Bull possibly ended up favouring the soldier who’d clearly been attempting to put the moves on Dorian with a smile composed of a few too many teeth. Nor could he seem to help leaving his hand on the Altus’ shoulder in a gesture that he knew was more possessive than he had any right to be. It was, all of it, simply beyond his control in that moment.

 

When he’d seen the man flirting with _his_ ‘vint as he’d climbed back to his feet, the world had momentarily flashed red around the edges as the irrational voice in the back of his skull -the one he’d spent all day using the pells, green recruits, and finally Cullen to beat into submission- had surged back to the fore with a loud mental snarl of ‘ _MINE’_. In retrospect, it was probably a good thing he’s been laid out on his ass and incapable of taking action in those first few breaths.

 

As it was, the time which lapsed between his noticing, and his being upright, had proved a boon. In those few seconds Bull had beaten back the internal snarling once more; quashing the sudden irrationally possessive drive he’d never felt toward any of his previous partners, but which simply refused to be silenced in regards to Dorian.

 

“Euugh. Discretion isn't your thing is it?” Dorian groaned, managing to load those seven words with an entire ancient tome’s worth of dry disgust and exasperation as he deliberately shrugged his shoulder out from under Bull’s palm.

 

“Three times!”Bull laughed it off, clapping the now pale and wide-eyed soldier on the shoulder instead, the blow hard enough to stagger the poor sod. He turned and offered the guy a second, even toothier grin, even made a serious effort at making it friendly, this time as opposed to simply baring his teeth at him while he looped one big arm over the man's shoulder in a grip _just_ this side of too tight not to be threatening, before snapping his fingers and turning back to Dorian, “Also, those silky underthings… Did you want those back, or did you leave them as some kind of a token? Or – Wait!- did you _'forget'_ them so you'd have a reason to come back! You sly dog!”

 

“If you choose to leave your door open like a savage I may, or may _not,_ come.” Dorian huffed, arms crossing over his chest and gaze turned sharply from The Bull’s own. You know for a guy with such naturally dark skin, Dorian really did have a knack for turning the prettiest shade of pink high up on those crisp cheek bones of his.

 

Bull leaned into Dorian, dragging the hapless soldier with him, “Heh. Speak for yourself.” he breathed the words right over the shell of Dorian’s ear and smirked when those two spots of high colour on his cheeks exploded into a full face flush. He drew himself back in a hurry when Dorian whirled in front of him, mouth open and fire flashing in his eyes, looking more spicy and delicious than ever. His mouth actually started to water at the sheer heat washing off the mage, before a loud masculine groan mingled with a cackling whoop of shriek-y feminine laughter crashed into them like a charging bronto, effectively knocking all that lovely colour from Dorian’s face like it had never been there.

 

“Maker’s Mercy!” Blackwall’s voice was gruff with equal parts constrained laughter and exasperation, while Sera hung off his arm wheezing so hard she looked in danger of literally collapsing under the strength of her crowing. “ _Dorian,_ don’t tell me you  _actually_ went and did it?!”

 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about.” Dorian sniffed clearly trying for haughty. Bull just did his best -which wasn’t all that good it turned out- not to snort in amusement, when it came out sounding a sight more squeaky the he was sure was the mage’s intention; the failure earned him a really impressive glare.

 

“He’s askin’ if you an’ Serah-Big-Broad-And-Ox-Like have been playing at _‘hide yer knob_ _up_ _my back cupboard.’_ _”_ Sera half shouted amidst her shriek-y giggles, definitely loud enough to get the attention of practically everyone else in the courtyard

 

Dorian looked like he'd swallowed something, and the expression only got worse when Varric chimed in on the fun.  


“Really, Buttercup? The ' _back cupboard_ ' that the best you can do?"  


“Wot'cha think you can do better?”

 

“I could try my hand at it.” Varric grinned.

  
“Perhaps we don’t.” Dorian suggested but Varric's first effort simply rolled right over the mage's mild tone.  


“Basting his rump-roast.” the dwarf fired off causing Blackwall to just about spit out his teeth and then it was a toss-up of who was supporting whom between the Warden and the archer-elf.

  
“Ha!” Sera crowed before coming back with a gasped 'Saucing his mutton'  


“Too ambiguous.” Varric said waving her off, before supplying “ _‘Stuffing his fowl’_. Now that suits a peacock like our Sparkler on more levels than one." Bull saw Varric shoot a wink in the direction of the now spluttering and - _literally_ \- sparking Mage.  


“Too right it's _foul”_   Sera cackled before once again proving how much she enjoyed a bit of ‘escalation' as Dorian had once put it, “‘ _Packing the fudge’_ ” Blackwall cringed audibly even as he laughed and Bull barely choked back his own snort of amusement, belatedly trying -and failing- not to throw any more fuel on Dorian's fire.

 

“Well if we wanna get crude with it!” Varric's laughed, “How about~ _‘Stewing the Ox-bone in brown sau-’_ Shit!” That last expletive -though following the trend the euphemism battle had been taking- was more the result of Varric having to take a dive in order to avoid the sudden fireball careening toward his face.

 

“That will be quite enough of that.” Bull was impressed, he’d never heard quite that combination of overly-prim clipped off words, and hotly pissed off tone co-exist in one voice simultaneously before, but Dorian managed it effortlessly. Shit but he was _hot_ when he got like this.

 

Bull couldn’t stop his tongue from sliding out and moistening his lips at the sound and sight of Dorian trying to repress and containing all that boiling, passionate anger. The literal fire spent from his finger tips on the scorched earth but the metaphorical flames still glittering in those stormy grey-hazel eyes. Yesterday, such a display of casual and hostile magic would have had Bull jumpier than a frog on a bed of hot coals but after last night... after last night - after having _seen_ what happened when the man really gave it up and let it go.

 

 _Flash of heat on his face; the warm grip about his cock. The stink of burning wool; Dorian’s hoarse satisfied cry in his ears. Flickering flames overwhelming his vision; nerves long dormant overwhelmed with lurid sensation._ The curtains blossoming flame as his knot bloomed within the mage’s molten core...

 

... _hhhnnnnngh._

 

His cock stirred with remembered interest as his senses assaulted him with the phantom recall of the experience, even as a shiver of fear and a thrill of excitement competed to be the dominate sensation racing over his spine. He got a little lost in the thick heat of his reminiscences and without being entirely aware of it happening,Bull suddenly found his head had been hauled roughly down by a be-ringed hand on one horn.

 

“Bull. A word.”Came that light crisp -painfully precise- voice in his ear right before he was unceremoniously being dragged along in a weird, hunched,sideways crab-walk in Dorian’s wake. Bull didn’t resist, grinning like a fool and waving cheerfully to the drilling Chargers as they past -along with any others he knew- as the mage continued to march him out of the sunny courtyard and into the shadows of the still mostly empty tavern. He blinked a couple times trying to get his vision to adjust to the lower light as Dorian towed him still further into a shadowed alcove in the very back.

 

Once there, the 'vint jerked his arm hard, clearly trying to forcibly swing Bull round and into the wall. He indulged the other man letting the mage get him headed in the right direction then ‘stumbled’ a bit so he could fake the force of impact the smaller man was trying to exert. A ribald grin split his lips with hungry anticipation as he slouched down against the rough planks to put himself and the Altus more on a level.

 

It lasted only a moment.

 

Dorian’s eyes were not sparking with any kind of promising heat but were instead cold and hard. Where he’d expected to find that pretty pink tint of the man’s blush upon his cheek, instead he saw a blanched absence of any colour, as the mage’s jaw was clenched hard enough to drive the blood entirely out of them. Where he’d thought to find moist glistening lips pulled into an overblown pout, instead he saw a thin sharp bloodless slash of contemptuous anger. Bull swallowed nervously as he took in the rest of Dorian’s visage. Raised shoulders, arms crossed protective across his chest, spine stiff, and chin jutting aggressively forward.

 

Shit. Somewhere amid the teasing Bull had miscalculated.

 

Dorian wasn’t amused.  

 

Dorian was _pissed._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Closing A/N: Sooooo~ yeah, um... Sorry? *sheepish grin* I am a horrible person leaving it hanging on that note but chapter two, 'Actions' is just getting its last red-pen read through and with luck will be ready for beta in a day or two and posted soon after that! By next weekend for sure! I promise I'll bend over backwards (and several other ways if necessary) to get it to you all by then! *determined face*
> 
> In the meantime... what did you think? Personally I don't feel like I was as on my game with writing this over such a long stretch as I was with the first, but hopefully you all forgave me my rusty-creaky run-up to writing these boys again and are still with me. But feel free to tell me where you think I need to grease myself up a bit more in the comments if you agree. Or just comment on the story points. Or tell me your own views on the 'controversial' morning after game banter featured here – I'm always up for a good discussion, just please; No overt negativity and try to be respectful of other's views and opinions on the matter, if that's your chosen topic.
> 
> As always a million thanks and border-line-worship to my marvelous and long suffering betas, MRTL85, & Tuon. Without you this would all just be an unreadable mess.
> 
> Thanks for reading my darlings and I'll see you all soon! <3


	2. Actions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opening A/N: Wow! Would you look at that? I actually made my posting deadline! *shocked face* this must be the first time in the history of my posting stuff where that has actually happened. Yes. Well, right. No long rambling excuses this time -cause I did it! *\o/* - Lets just get down to business, shall we?
> 
> *twiddles fingers* Have fun!
> 
>  
> 
> ____________________________________________________________________________*evil cackling in the distance*

Chapter 2

 

**Actions**

 

Dorian tried to ignore the roar of blood pounding in his ears, just as he had studiously ignored the many eyes throughout the courtyard which had been glued to his and The Bull’s conversation. It had been bad enough when it had just been Bull, him, and the dreamy-eyed farm-boy, but then Sera and Varric had decided to make a spectacle of themselves and thus, by extension, of his and The Bull’s dalliance. Not one to be out done, Dorian had naturally made it worse with a flashy bit of anger-induced spell casting.

 

Not his best moment, that.

 

Normally being the centre of attention - be it malignant or beneficent – was simply a natural state of being for house Pavus’ talented, controversial son. This, however, had felt different. His body alternatively flushing hot then cold under the late afternoon sun as he caught sight of Cullen gaping at him in open-mouthed shock. The almost palatable awareness of the nervous, awkward shuffling just behind him, as his solider suddenly found himself eager to distance himself in light of The Bull’s brazen revelations. The burning ridicule of the cackling hyenas in the form of Sera, Blackwall and Varric. There had been nothing of value in any of it.

 

The worst, by far however, was when he turned to haul The Bull away from the sniggering, chortling crowd and caught sight of Leliana and Josephine standing on the stairs, politely disguising knowing smirks behind politically crafted masks of disinterest. Sly expressions which all the same shone forth from both sets of bright intelligent eyes. Seeing the politically minded Josephine and the ruthlessly manipulative Leliana carefully not-smiling with the knowledge of Dorian’s assignation with the qunari… _that_ had made his blood run cold and his mouth go desert dry. They were exactly the type of people Dorian used to go out of his way to keep _out_ of his personal affairs back home.

 

_Kaffas_ Never mind. He would deal with that later. Right now, he needed to deal with the great chortling lout who thought it was perfectly acceptable to throw such private information about willy-nilly like that; as though it was the business of the entire Inquisition whom he took to bed. Granted the damage had likely already been done. No doubt, his father would hear about this by the week's end. Still, it was the principal of the thing, and Dorian needed to do what damage control he could.

 

He brutally shoved the bitter tang of his shattered composure aside and ignored the rank-sour flood of fear-summoned anxiety over his tongue. Instead, he focused on his indignant outrage at having been outed in front of everyone like that. With a clarity born of years of training in the arcane arts, he centred all his considerable will on the one feeling amongst all the emotional-noise that _might_ prove useful to him. It was the only thing he allowed in until it was a singular clarion note of righteous deafening fury ripe to consume him. He pulled it to him, binding it tighter and tighter as he marched the dumb ox across the courtyard and through the Herald’s Rest, until it had coalesced into a hard, burning-cold lump in his chest. Thus fortified, he channelled every ounce of the feeling's keen biting edge into his furious stare as he swung Bull around and manged to toss the great thoughtless oaf up against the wall with a satisfying -though honestly surprising- thump.

 

He was livid, and he wanted Bull to be aware of it. Based on the way the qunari’s jovial, momentarily suggestive, smirk melted from his face when his solitary eye met Dorian’s frosty glare, he’d manged to achieve the desired impression.

 

“Dorian, I-” Dorian didn’t let him finish.

 

“What in the ass-end of Thedas was _that_?!” he spat, Bull opened his mouth again but Dorian bowled over him once more, with another angry shove at that broad gray chest, which Bull had so kindly lowered to exactly shoving height as though expressly for that purpose. “Yes, by all means, let’s just discuss Dorian’s sex life in the middle of the crowded court yard surrounded by the entire upper echelon of the Inquisition, why don’t we?” This time he shoved himself, away from the qunari, anger and a nefarious nauseating rolling horror low in his gut, demanding he move and pace to bleed off the excess adrenaline belatedly pouring into his system.

 

“Hey now, look I didn-” Bull reached out trying to catch his gauntlet-ed arm before Dorian had managed even half a step. With a childish flair of malicious temper, Dorian super-heated the metal studs and singed the bastard’s palm for his troubles.

 

“You didn’t what? _Think?_ Clearly,” Later, Dorian would hate how _snide_ he sounded just then, but in the moment of his anger (and bordering panic) it had felt good to lash out and he simply ploughed on, “but then I don’t know why I expected it of you, in the first place. Maybe because one _might_ have a reasonable expectation of a spy -a Ben-Hassrath agent- to know _some_ modicum of discretion. Obviously, I was harbouring some rather spectacular delusions on that front; seeing as you saw fit not only to crudely brag of your conquest, but went so far as to go about making a _scene_ of it! And let us not forget encouraging those- those- those uncivilized vulgarians!- to make a game of it!” he huffed angrily, feeling his temper crest with the wild gesticulating of his arms which he was incapable of curtailing just then. Another too-deep breath and he tried to continue in calmer tones.

 

“Never mind. No harm done. You’ve only outed me and my particular tastes to the entire organization, what harm could possibly come of doing that?” Well, there went any pretence of calm he'd been aiming for. And while he might have kept the flailing of his arms in check this time, his feet were another matter. The speed and stride of his pacing growing more frantic with each word, the turns coming faster and faster. “We’re in the south, after all. No one in this heathen backwater region cares if you want to bed men, woman, elves, dwarves, or bloody Avvar goats! K _affas_!- half the Fereldan gentry probably go to bed with their slobbering mutts! So what does it mater if the world knows that Dorian Pavus bent over for the qunari savage?” Suddenly he snapped to a stop and jabbed a finger into The Bull’s naked chest, more than half _hoping_ the action was hard enough to leave a bruise. “What you forget, _The Iron Bull_ , is this – We. Are. Not. From. The South!” he snarled, punctuating each final word with another hard stab of his finger – he might not have manged to bruise the other man, but he’d certainly managed to make the digit in question ache.

 

To his annoyance, rather than looking chastised, or apologetic, Bull’s expression had gone from sheepish, and mildly chagrined, to a decidedly hostile glower over the course of his little tirade.

 

“Right. I’m the indiscreet one. You done?” Bull rumbled, under his breath.

 

“No I'm not _'done'._ I've barely begun! And just what is _that_ supposed to mean? You _are_ the indiscreet one! That out there was-”

 

“A mistake. Yeah, I get it. I’m the problem. When I flirt with you in the courtyard, that’s being indiscreet. You coming-on to random inquisition soldiers in that same crowded court-yard, though, that's fine. Sure, that shit seems level.” Dorian spluttered, a denial rising to his lips only to get caught in his throat with the realization that, that _was_ exactly what had been happening before the Bull had interrupted. Maker, had it been that obvious? Bull went on, voice maddeningly level and calm in contrast to Dorian's earlier snarling. “Hey, not my place. You want to run off and get your next round of jollies with the country bumpkins from the latest batch of green recruits, fine by me, but don’t stand there and bust my balls over a lack of ‘discretion’, Dorian. I don't have to take that kind of hypocritical shit from you.”

 

Dorian felt all the fight drain out of him in the face of The Bull’s unflappable calm. It left him with nothing to hold that sick shaky feeling in the pit of his stomach at bay. Damn it. Damn _him_. Trust a bloody Ben-Hassrath to be able to disarm him of his only armour, with so little effort. Without his anger, he felt small and exposed; a raw nerve left naked and vibrating with an anxious need to find something solid and comforting to cling to. Perversely, that same niggling part of him had zeroed in on the warm envelope of air that seemed to constantly surround the qunari -no mater the weather- and was now whispering to him that here was his port in the storm. _Here_ was his safety; his comfort. All the comfort he could ever want. He just needed to reach out and take it, and The Bull would open his arms and welcome him.

 

 _Gentle hands and soft words, ‘I’m not kicking you out, Dorian._ ’

 

No! He needed to keep a clear head. Maintain some distance.

 

He turned his back to the warrior and protectively crossed his arms low over his chest, not sure whether he was trying to put a barrier between himself and the outside world or holding back the sick churning of his innards. Either way, it decisively removed him from the temptation of falling into the other man’s embrace like some swanning maiden in a cheap Orlesian romance.

 

“That’s- that’s not the point,” was all he could respond with, hating the choked sound of his voice and the wet burning in his eyes, never mind the inherently weak nature of such a statement used as a rebuttal.

 

“Yeah. Sure it ain’t. Wanna tell me what is, Big Guy?”

 

_Blighted perceptive bastard._

 

“We’re not from the south, Bull. _I’m_ not from the south,” he said sounding more defeated than he cared to, turning his head over his shoulder, vaguely in the qunari’s direction, but refusing to find his eye. “Surely even you -with your knowledge of Tevinter- have enough intellect in that thick skull of yours to figure it out.”

 

Even without actually looking at him, Dorian knew the exact moment it clicked.

 

“Ah, shit.”

 

“Precisely. See the problem?”

 

“Ah, shit!” Again and with more heat. “ _Fuck_.”

 

“Why yes, _do_ keep swearing. I'm sure that will sort everything out right as rain.”

 

“Hey, Dorian, look, I _am_ sorry. I-” he flinched a bit, “I screwed up, and I’m sorry. No excuses.”

 

It took a moment for Dorian to process that; longer than the simple statement called for, certainly. He wasn't sure what he'd been hoping for -what he'd expected- when he'd dragged The Bull in here to berate him, but a sincere apology was not it. That was, in fact, so far outside of the realm of his experience, that it rather knocked his feet out from under him to receive one now. From a _qunari_ mercenary, of all things.

 

“Right. Um- well, apology accepted,” he finally managed, about a minute too late and not entirely avoiding tripping over his tongue in the process. “Next time, however, let's do _try_ and be a bit more discreet, hmm?”

 

“Sure. Low key. Discreet. I can do that.” A sly look, “‘Next time', huh?”

 

“Don’t get cocky,” Dorian cautioned, with a sniff.

 

The slow smile which spread over the Bull’s tattered lips was some how both cautiously hopeful and unbelievably smug at the same time.“You like it when I’m-” he quirked his brow suggestively and that smile definitely slipped into the territory of a ‘leer’ as he finished, “-‘ _cocky’_.”

 

Maker, but the man was insufferable.

 

Dorian kept from rolling his eyes with an effort and ignored the bait. “Yes. Well. If you'll excuse me,” he drawled, doing his level best to straighten his clothes and pull his features back into some semblance of his usual bored and confident facade before turning to brave the slowly filling common room. “I need a drink...” The muttered, ‘or ten’ which followed, was strictly for his own benefit.

 

 

**.ox:~DTF~:xo.**

 

 

For the next few hours, Bull watched Dorian skillfully charm his way out of trouble over cheating at cards, deftly deflect several unwelcome attempts at conversation with topics related to what had happened in the courtyard earlier, and manage not to drink nearly as much alcohol as he’d been intending to do when he’d first marched over to the bar.

 

It was a show. If you knew the man -or just happened to have been trained in what to look for- it was clear he was forcing the sociability in an attempt to tramp down the underlying anxiety. It was still there; it was there in the way his hand gripped his cup too tight so that he ended up spilling more liquor than actually went down his throat. It was there in the forced harsh sounding edge to his usually warm easy laugh. And it was there in the pallid tightness about his eyes which all the kohl in Thedas couldn’t hide. Dorian was a hair's breadth away from panicking.

 

Bull mentally kicked himself... Again.

 

He’d fucked up. He’d been so focused on the ‘threat’ -and what right did _he_ have to feel ‘threatened’ in the first place, anyways? It had only been one night!- posed by the young solider flirting with the mage, that he forgot all the things he should have remembered. Sure, his read on Dorian had always been that he enjoyed more than a healthy dose of public adulation. The man thrived on the feeding of his ego and the acknowledgement of his superiority. Naturally, it followed that a man who basked in praise and veneration with such relish, would likewise preen and strut upon hearing his prowess in the bedroom made much of.

 

Well...He'd been _half_ right.

 

But the fact of Bull bragging hadn’t been the problem. Admitting to their fellow teammates that they had crossed that line between colleagues and bed-mates, hadn’t been the problem, either. It wasn't like Dorian taking up with someone was exactly all that shocking.

 

Most of the inner-circle had noticed the looks, and the reflexive flirting Dorian couldn’t seem to keep entirely buttoned up around Bull and Cullen; but he'd also flirted hard with the boss and did his level best to charm the socks off of Josie and Red whenever they all met at the war table, as well. Unsurprisingly, most of the inquisition -Bull included- just assumed he was bi-sexual and moved on. After all, Dorian was right, the south honestly didn’t seem to hold any real moral or judgemental view on sexuality -much like the Qun, you were who you were, and you liked what you liked- so long as you did your duty, no one cared.

 

And it was that last one that was the lynch pin, to his current predicament.

 

‘Doing your duty’ as a Tevinter son of the ruling mage-aristocracy meant getting married to the ‘right’ mage-daughter and siring as many refined little potential magisters as you could... and that was something Dorian was _never_ going to do.

 

Bull had been harbouring the suspicion that Dorian’s defection from his homeland had, had more behind it than simply a desire to do good and stop the Venatori. Any man who cared that deeply about his homeland didn’t leave it behind lightly. Bull knew. Seheron was all kinds of broken, and maybe the Qun was not all he had thought it to be before he’d lived outside its rules and restrictions for so many years; but it still hurt him bitterly at night, alone in the dark, to recognize he could never go back now that he’d turned his back on it.

 

Bull had seen that same pained and bitter look on Dorian's face. Just once or twice now, in a few unguarded moments after someone or other enquired about the mage's intentions to return to Tevinter. Dorian always waved off such questions with a mocking air of carefree indifference, until his questioner's back was turned. Then, if you were looking, you'd see the mask slip and what remained was hollow defeat. To Bull, that look spoke of a man who knew he _couldn’t_ go home.

 

Now, given the dual-revelation of his post-coital behaviours and the nature of his reaction to being ‘outed’, followed up with their subsequent discussion on the matter of discretion… Well, Bull had been as colossal an idiot in _truth,_ as he often _played_ at being.

 

Dorian wasn’t bi.

 

Dorian was _G_ _ay._

 

And he was terrified that news of him taking up with a male partner here, would find its way back to Tevinter. And now Bull could understand why. Of course, things would only be worse if said partner also happened to be one of the hated and reviled qunari savages.

 

What a fucking mess.

 

Now Bull's mind was hard at work sorting through all the possible Tevinter agents and all the freelance information brokers who might be willing to sell to the North, calculating what tactics would be best employed to bury flow of that particular tid-bit of information. Who would respond best to bribes, who he'd needed to befriend, and who called for a judicious application of muscle.

 

For a time, Bull lost himself to the familiar machinations of the spy game, where he was once again on solid footing. This was something he could _do_ ; something he could _fix_. He never lost sight of Dorian though. His eye instinctively tracking the slightly too vibrant flash of Dorian's clothes, always keeping the mage in the periphery like a touch stone.

 

Like an addict. Shit. How was he in this deep already?

 

Here he was, supposed to be finding ways to lessen the gossip about him and the 'Vint and all he seemed able to do was fantasize about how good it would feel to crowd the man into this darkened corner or to press him hard against that stretch of wall. To set about making a mess of him all over again. Instead of thinking of ways to clean the damage he'd done to the man's reputation, all he could do was daydream of ways to sully it further. Daydreams such as kissing the mage bruised and breathless in the nearest half-way private shadow until they both ached for it...

 

Shit.

 

Bull's eye traced the 'Vint's path as he threaded his way across the crowded common room, headed for the stairs and ramparts. Through the attic. The empty attic. The attic where he'd be alone.

 

Fuck. He wanted to kiss him again. He licked his lips, suddenly starved for another taste. Craving a chance to roll the man's unique spice over his lips, once more with an urgent hot need that burned through him all the way from his suddenly tingling lips to his stirring groin as he watched the Altus swagger his way up the first raisers. Just one kiss; that was all he wanted.

 

“ _Gentle hands._ _S_ _oft words_.” Bull nearly jumped out of his skin at the quiet words coming form what he'd have sworn was the empty air at his ear moments before. It startled him so badly it took him a few seconds to identify the source as the freaky kid the boss let haunt the place. Cole; and he was doing that equally freaky shit where he dug around in people's heads.

 

“Damn it, Cole,” Bull muttered through a strained, grit-toothed, smile. “We talked about this. You can't just go jumping out at people like that.” The kid was too lost in whomever's head he'd slipped into and just continued to sway dreamily where he was perched on the table top; the poor unsuspecting sod's inner most thoughts and feelings, spilling from his lips, unaffected by Bull's reprimand.

 

“‘ _I’m not kicking you out, Dorian._ ’ It plays over and over in his head, like a litany of the Chant. Caressing his mind like silk where there should be straw. So many conflicting thoughts and emotions, all confused and tumbling together. Lust and logic; fear and hope. Craving more, too scared to ask. _Why him? It wasn't supposed to be like this! He wasn't supposed to care. Keep it quiet._ _P_ _ush him away._ _It_ _'s_ _s_ _afer th_ _is_ _way._ ” Bull's eye widened as he realized just who's head Cole was rummaging through. Then the boy's gaze shifted, the brim of his overlarge hat tilting back until Bull was looking directly into those odd milky blue eyes that never seemed to so much look _at_ a body as _through_ it. “He wishes you'd kiss him again too.”

 

That was all Bull needed to hear. With a wide grin he chugged back the rest of his drink, then followed in the mage's footsteps, catching him up just as he was reaching for the door.

 

 

**.ox:~DTF~:xo.**

 

 

Dorian fought to get a grip on the tumbling tumult of his thoughts and the wild surging of emotions determined not to co-operate with him. Finally, he forced himself to turn his back on the bar and its occupants and made his way toward the stairs and the sobering winds of Skyhold’s battlements.

 

Not that he was really drunk enough to need that; and _that,_ right there, was at least half the problem.

 

Three hours he'd spent trying to act like nothing had happened. Like it was of no consequence he’d gone to bed with the infamous Iron Bull. He’d managed to put on a pretty good show, if he didn't say so himself. Succeeded, even, in maintaining his composure when some dreadfully simple little gossip felt the need to question him directly, deftly turning the topic of conversation elsewhere with causal practised ease.

 

Yes. He’d put on a _very_ good show. Might even have been able to fool himself if it weren’t for one thing. One small fact. The fact that for three solid hours of drinking, and card games, and flirting outrageously with all the pretty barmaids, Dorian’s every thought had been intensely underscored with a singular awareness of The Iron Bull.

 

It was all consuming.

 

All afternoon, no mater where in the room he was, what he was doing, or whom he spoke to, Dorian could never quite rid himself of that awareness. It was like a pull in the back of his head. The sharp tug of a loadstone on his psyche; one which he’d have swore grew stronger whenever The Bull’s eye rested on him.

 

The result of this was that the afternoon had dragged. Hour creeping lowly into hour as Dorian tried to ignore that itching in his mind. It pulled his focus from the simple social pleasure of the tavern and drove him mad with it’s irrepressible buzzing at the back of his skull. Yet Dorian couldn’t find it in himself to simply cut his losses and run for the solitude of his rooms or the library.

 

No, he couldn’t just leave. Because somewhere along the line, what had started as a simple awareness had transformed into a _craving_. A craving far stronger than any urge he’d ever had for drink. It had taken a disgusting amount of willpower to finally walk away; so much in fact, he was half-willing to believe this all a dream and the qunari warrior actually a manifest demon of desire come to seduce him.

 

At the door, finally free of the field of Bull’s influence, he took a moment more -one last effort before braving the biting cold- closing his eyes and breathing deep through his nose, as he reached for the handle.

"Hey." With a heady, heavy wave of warmthupon his back, one of The Bull's too large hands was suddenly pressed flat on the door, his thick forearm resting just above Dorian's bare shoulder, hemming him in as that unnatural heat rolled off of him, tempting him to do something foolish. "Just one last thing, Dorian."

Again, Dorian was forced to fight off that disturbingly intense desire to lean into that warm envelope of air around the warrior with tooth and nail. Trapped as he was between stone and qunari bulk, Dorian went instantly rigid, unable to physically distance himself from the urge as he had earlier. Jaw clenching, he turned his head over the shoulder not overshadowed by a thick column of muscle. Harsh words coming to his tongue, sharp and meant to wound, to drive the beast off before Dorian could fall any deeper into this creeping trap of emotional want.

 

The first syllable escaped his lips. That was all. A single rasped fraction of a word, all but spat from between his teeth and no more. The rest was cut off.

 

With a firm press of scarred lips, The Bull silenced his very thoughts with a kiss. Even the wordless mental protest within his own mind was voiceless, stilled before words could be properly formed. The world going utterly black around him as his rational mind was wholly overwritten, and he gave himself over.

 

This was not the kind of kiss he'd have thought Bull capable of before last night. In light of his -admittedly, hazy memories- he probably shouldn't have been so easily caught off-guard by the genuine uncomplicated sweetness of it, but he was. He _was_ caught off guard -entirely overbalanced, if he were being honest. Two lips pressed to his with pure naked affection… and it knocked his mental footing out from under him so hard he found himself falling at breakneck speeds into the sly impossible promise of it all.

 

The Iron Bull kissed him, and Dorian forgot himself... _utterly_ _._

 

Large, warm, and calloused finger tips traced along his jaw, gently asking he turn his head further, and Dorian obliged. For half a breath they stood like that, The Bull leaned down over him, his head all but sideways to keep their noses clear and his horns from knocking the door frame, with Dorian's face twisted back over his shoulder and tilted up to meet him. Then the tense coil of Dorian's muscles broke and he followed the lead of his head; first his shoulders, then his hips, twisted within the circle of Bull's arms, their lips never parting from that simple press as, with every passing moment, Dorian leaned into it more, and still The Bull's lips didn't part for him, he shared the mercenary’s breath and nothing more.

 

It was intensely intimate, yet still it remained oddly chaste; the qunari never attempting to deepen the kiss or take any other further liberties. Even when Dorian worked his arms up over the mercenary’s broad shoulders, one hand curving round the back of his wide neck, the other curling up to take a solid grip on the base of the lower-most horn, using it to pull himself even tighter to all that scalding bare muscle, Bull still kept things _disconcertingly_ innocent.

 

Dorian held out as long as he could, relishing the sweetness of the moment even as his stomach twisted and fluttered in the face of such unnerving affection – he didn’t know what to do with it. How was he supposed to react? Was he supposed to simply accept it for what it appeared to be and take it on faith that it was real? What _sane_ individual did such a thing?

 

But by all that was sacred... he did _want_ it to be.

 

He shook with the wild desire to accept the promise of that kiss for the truth, even as he quailed inside with the fear of the lie it _had_ to be. After only a few thundering heart beats, it all became too much to bear; he needed to find his footing lest he let himself get even more tangled up in this viper’s pit of false promise. He _need_ _ed_ the rush of adrenaline, and the heat of lust to make sense of any of this insanity. These were the things he understood. Fortunately, for a talented individual such as himself, such things were the essence of simplicity to achieve.

 

So, when next Bull pulled in a breath of Dorian's air, the mage simply parted his lips and ran his tongue along the jagged seam of the warrior’s scarred and battered ones, digging his nails into the qunari’s thick skin and grinding his hips up against him. Bull's response was a forgone conclusion and Dorian watched through hooded eyes as spark hit tinder and the flame of the mercenary's passion caught.

 

With a rumbling moan deep in that powerful chest, The Bull opened and let Dorian in.

 

Their tongues met and that flame became a raging inferno of such intense fervour that Dorian was swept up helplessly in its wake. The dance of that dexterous tongue against his own, the taste of the bitter ale which lingered on The Bull's breath, the baking warmth of his skin which sunk right to Dorian's bones, and the sheer spine tingling thrill of feeling all that raw strength and power behind the warrior's every touch; all of it combined in a heady liqueur fit to make Dorian's head spin. Robbed of rational thought as he was, when he felt those big hands slide along the curve of his spine and down to his rear, it was second nature for Dorian to hitch his leg to the side and allow those big hands to press his hips crushingly hard against the Bull's own.

 

Another filthy grind of Dorian’s and The Bull's thick fingers were digging sharply into his backside and that amazing tongue of his was no longer willing to play the passive partner, it invaded Dorian's mouth like the unstoppable shift of the tides. Dorian whimpered to feel the strong implacable press of qunari on all sides and before he could think the wiser of it, he was dragging himself up by that grip on The Bull's horn, his other leg hitching out as well and swinging it up to twist over The Iron Bull's waist. The qunari took the cue and deftly shifted his grip to hoist the tall mage higher and stepped into the door, pressing him hard against the wooden planks and licking his way to Dorian's throat just as he had the night before.

 

Within seconds, both their hips were rutting together. The growing swell of Bull's arousal rubbing greedily at the press of Dorian's own hardened interest while he did his level best to lock his ankles behind that broad silver back.

 

**.ox:~DTF~:xo.**

 

Bull's northern head knew damn well he shouldn't be letting this happen, unfortunately at this point it was his southern head calling the shots.

 

He couldn't think. Not with the taste of Dorian in his mouth. The rich scent of him in his nose. The lush feel of him in his hands. All of it weaving together and conspiring to fog his mind beyond all rhyme or reason. All caution was gone so it was inevitable that when Dorian half-clambered up him, Bull, couldn't fathom the need to stop himself from helping the mage on his way; it was as imperative as his next breath that he set his hands on that lush ass and hoisted the Altus up into position.

 

Now he had the 'Vint pressed against the door and was really rutting into him, as one hand slid down one long leg and provided the support the human needed to properly cross his ankles behind Bull's wide back. Once managed, Dorian had had all the leverage he needed to really get his own hips stirring in a way that threatened to see Bull crash over the edge right there and then.

 

_Shit._

 

Vivid sense memory of the evening prior when the mage had stirred his hips just like that tore through him like a torrent, and with a deep hum of want, Bull's own hips were snapping forward to meet the human’s with a possessive urgency. He wanted to take the man again, right here against the door; to press him tight and thrust so deep into him they'd never come apart again, to knot him, and tie him, and bind them both together until they were indiscernible one from the other.

 

Dorian's head flew back with a gasp breaking their kiss at last but offering a long line of glorious olive skin to Bull's lips in exchange. With a rumbling growl, Bull eagerly called it a fair deal and dragged his mouth over the hammering of the 'Vint's pulse; reddening that coppery flesh first with the sharp edge of teeth then sucking hard.

 

Marring him. Marking him. _Claiming him._

 

Near snarling with an unchecked lust, Bull pressed on. His mind filled with the overwhelming need to show Dorian just how much he craved him. To make the man feel so good he'd beg and plead for more, and never feel unwanted again. Until even the distant memory of such a thing was no longer even conceivable. Lips, hands, hips; every part of The Bull's considerable focus was honed on the mage held tight to him, growing more ragged and desperate by the second until the next gasp came out more whining cry than startled exhalation.

 

Beautiful sound. Beautiful man. All his.

 

His for the taking. His for the pleasing and protecting and the cherishing. _His-_

 

The sharp shocking sound of shattering glass less than a foot to his left and Sera's coarse shout cut through the buzzing carnal lust between his ears like twin knives and Bull reeled back, eye going wide and body trembling as he realized how close he'd come to losing himself.

 

“Oi! Get a room, ya' plonkers!” the she-elf cackled from the bottom of the stairs. It was the laugh echoing up from three floors below that seemed to do for Dorian what the sound of breaking glass had done for Bull.

 

The warrior saw those stormy grey hazel eyes go wider than saucers and that olive skin go chalky under the tan; saw the incredulous panic held barely in check resurface with a surge of wild adrenaline so strong Bull could smell it. One whiff of the sudden acrid sweat that had broken out over the Mage’s brow and he knew he'd stepped in it. _Damn it_.

 

It was fine.

 

He could fix this.

 

He just needed to- “Dorian I-” Too late.

 

The shutters slammed down and all the mage's barriers came up with an angry scowl. It happened so fast, Bull imagined he could actually _hear_ it. “So much for _'discreet',_ ” Dorian hissed, cold fire sparking to dangerous life in his eyes and stopping Bull's words hard in is throat. Then the human turned on his heel, and all but tore the door from its hinges in his anger, before sending it slamming back into Bull's face.

 

Too far.

 

He’d gone too far. _Way too far._ Why the fuck had he let things get so out of hand? All he’d wanted was a kiss.

 

He leaned forward until his head hit the rough wood with a heavy dead sounding thump.

 

“Ah~ Shit.”

 

**To Be Continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Closing A/N: ...  
> Pleasedon'tkillme! *takes cover*  
> *Shouts from where she's hiding under the desk*  
> Friends, lets be reasonable here! I /did/ say multiple times there wasn’t actually gonna be any smut in this one!  
> *glances back at that last scene* I know it /looked/ like I was about to make a liar of myself for a moment there but honestly did you really think it was gonna be that easy? We have both Sera and Varric in residence the day everybody finds out our boys have started shagging... no way one of them wasn’t gonna turn up to make trouble  
> *looks at it again.*  
> *cringes* No. You're right. That was horrible, I'm a horrible, evil person.  
> *peaks out and braces for impact* Okay. Hit me with your worst. I deserve it.
> 
> (Sub-note: I promise you, tho, Part Three is gonna be the rival for Part One's smexy levels... when I get it written... Which I will do my very best to see done before another 18 moths has gone by. And as always my unending thanks and gratitude to my wonderful beta readers, MRTL85 & Enchant – you lovelies are the only reason I can even attempt to make these stories fit for public consumption)


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